The Shadow
by Thranduillion
Summary: LOTR RE-MAKE OF BBC'S ROME. After hiding from her past, a former citizen of Mirkwood unwillingly returns to find her old city on the edge of chaos. Thranduil fights for loyalty as whispers of a rising challenger float through his ranks. How will the young king manage with his realm at the brink of a civil war? Can they help each other overcome their evils? Thranduil x OC
1. Chapter 1

**THE SHADOW**

 **CHAPTER ONE**

Eleanor ducked behind a large tree, her tired muscles beginning to throb from the constant running. For a mortal, this man was certainly fast. Quickly surveying the area, she breathed an inward sigh and cursed under her breath with a clenched fist as a wave of recognition ran through her. If she didn't apprehend the man now she would soon chase him into the Greenwood border, something she would rather it not come to. Silently she weighed up her options. She could let the villainous little whelp enter the wood and be captured by the guard, whereupon he would most likely be taken to the king and killed. Or, she could slip in unnoticed and steal him back but by doing so risk her own capture.

 _Fuck._

Turning on the balls of her feet, she began to sprint, damning herself for not finishing the job sooner. She would have done so, had she not run into a group of those wretched orcs. Truth be known, she had hoped to avoid any such distractions this time around but the foolish man had led her straight into them. From this, she had to save him and what thanks did he give for her merciful spirit? Absolutely none!

She stopped for a moment and lifted her ear to wind, the man was quite close to her now, she could hear him rasping for breath. Now was her chance. Swiftly, she scaled the thick trunk of a large tree until she was high enough to have the man in her sights. Peering through the leaves, she studied him, this was the first time she'd got to look at his face properly. He was dark skinned with broad shoulders that shook sporadically as he tried to regain his breath. His face glistened with sweat and he looked comparatively weak in that moment but he had thick, glossy locks that lifted in the wind. At any other moment she might have even found him handsome, she reflected. But not now.

Expertly, using her knees to balance on the thick branch, she notched an arrow and lined up her target. For a second, she almost allowed a brief pinch of sympathy to run through her. After all, he really did have no chance of survival from the moment that the father of the girl he'd defiled hired her to kill him. But, alas, it would not do to give in to such ghastly emotion. He had a debt to pay and she was the collector.

She released the arrow and with a quick _thwish_ it struck a tree, sending splinters of wood all about the small clearing she looked down on. She frowned. Wasn't the man just sitting there? Never in a million years would she have missed the brute so, she concluded, he must have anticipated her and moved. But such speed was impossible for a mere mortal, wasn't it? She creeped forward along the branch to inspect further but with a rustle of leaves she felt a pair of strong arms around her waist and all to quickly she realised her mistake. Helplessly, she watched as the world moved around her and with a painful impact to her shoulder she was thrown to the ground.

Groaning, she looked up into a circle of cold eyes and allowed an audible sigh to escape her.

"I was hoping to avoid this."

Breaking the circle, a muscular ellon pushed through, his tall figure blocking out the strong midday sun. He pulled the man by his collar, his strong muscles rippling under his dark tunic.

"Does this belong to you?" he pushed the man forwards onto his knees, his bound hands clasped in prayer. Eleanor watched as his wild, feverish eyes roamed the circle, pleading with the strangers. It almost made her chuckle, knowing full well that he would find no council there.

"Yes, but not for much longer."

"Is that so?" he studied her for a moment, his forest green eyes shining with a hidden curiosity. He leaned forward to offer his hand, some strands of his lustrous chestnut hair falling to frame his face. After taking his hand and pulling herself up smiled smugly, finding that they were almost eye level.

"Please, she will kill me" the man hissed "I have money at my house, if you release me you shall be handsomely rewarded!" his feverish eyes scanned the group for any shred of sympathy.

"Silence your whining!" though he didn't bother to speak in common tongue, his meaning was evident by the malice in his words. "What a sorry bunch they are, always thinking of money"still, he stood for a moment and considered the man for before addressing the guard. "Stand down, we will take them both to the king."

"There is no need, release me and I shall be clear of these woods" a feeling of uneasiness nestled into her stomach. She had really hoped that it would not come to this.

"I do not doubt it but you have still trespassed upon the king's lands" he stated matter of factly, frowning at her "with a mortal no less. It is not for me to decide.".

"I am no more than 200 yards into this realm, I wish not to go any further. I seek no refuge here, only to conduct the duty with which I have been tasked" she knew that once the order had been passed, the guard wouldn't budge but she'd be a fool not to at least try.

"Never the less, it is the law of this realm that all trespassers must be brought before his royal highness, whomever they may be and whatever business they may have" looking into her eyes, he took a step forward and lowered his tone slightly "by the valar, do not make me have to use force for it pains me to handle a lady with such aggression."

Looking around at the unified faces she ran a hand through her messy hair and sighed. It was a quiet threat, but a threat never the less. A threat she doubted she could counter, given the number of them.

"So be it."

For the most part the journey moved on in a still silence. The stoic guard rode in perfect unison, the cold wind whipping through their silken hair, save for the sorry soul who was made to ride with the whimpering man. She, herself, wrapped her arms around the waist of the dark haired ellon, sharing his beastly steed. After some long hours of uninterrupted riding, and much to her pleasure, he finally called the group to a halt and announced they rest for the night.

Eleanor sat, leaning back on her hands, resting her tired legs and warming her skin in the amber glow of the camp fire. Many years had it been since she'd even entered the greenwood, let alone walked within it's walls and now she was being taken to the king. And all because that little cretin couldn't keep his hands to himself. He cowered away as she shot him a cold glare before returning to stare into the flames.

"So, what is your business with this mortal then?" she looked up as the ellon she now assumed to be the leader of the group took a seat next to her, his tone was light and friendly though she could tell his question was serious.

"Isn't that for the king to ask me?" she gritted her teeth, her response had come off more blunt than she'd intended but if he was offended he didn't show it.

"I ask not as your interrogator, merely out of my own curiosity" he smiled at her, earning a guarded half-smile in return. She couldn't remember the last time someone had smiled at her and even though he appeared completely genuine, her cautious side of couldn't help but feel some natural suspicion.

"Will I be interrogated then? That seems a bit unnecessary" with her right hand she played with a strand hair that had fallen loose, something she always did when she has nervous. In times of combat she was never nervous but these intimate talks weren't something she often engaged in.

"Who can say what the king will do with you? It's a mystery" his forest green eyes scanned the rest of the group, who were chatting and eating quietly amongst themselves, while he ran a large hand through his raven locks.

Something in his tone made her wonder just what he meant by that. If they had an unpredictable king it could well work to her advantage, all she'd have to do is employ some emotive language, wring a story of woe and womanly toil and she could probably leave by the time the sun had set. She had heard around the time of Oropher falling that his son had taken the throne, if he was anything like his father he would be a strict leader, dedicated to the cause but somehow those words suggested otherwise. In any case, she knew better than to ask.

"So who are you, then?" she wrapped her long arms around her knees and hugged them to her chest, glad for the thick cloak she wore.

"I am Neurion, commander of the 4th company under the royal guard" it was a proud title but he said it humbly, his upper lip tugging upwards in a small smile as he looked down into the crackling flames.

"I see" she wanted to say more but didn't really know how to continue, it had been along time since she'd had to engage in polite conversation the notion was almost lost to her. The only people she spoke to these days were merchants or, when she needed to make some quick money, people who wanted a job doing.

"And yourself?" he asked.

"I am called Eleanor"

He sat up and, turning to face her, studied her properly in the firelight.. His gaze made her uneasy and as she looked down at herself, she grimaced. She hadn't had time to change since the orc business let alone wash or brush a comb through her hair. Her boots were caked with mud and although she was desensitised from it by now, she didn't doubt that she stank of blood. She tensed as he leant forward, wondering what he was going to do, but he only swiped a finger across her knee before lifting it to his nose and making a sour face.

"And, Eleanor, is it you we have to thank for the pleasant pile of burning orcs some distance from east border?"

She shifted nervously as a few members of the group grew silent and turned to face her, eyebrows raised in anticipation.

"What if it is?" she spoke quietly, unsure of which path the conversation would follow.

With a hearty laugh, Neurion turned to the men and his green eyes creased with a large grin "it looks like we have found our shadow, gentlemen."

"Surely not" a fair haired ellon spoke up, snorting as he looked at her sceptically "the shadow can no be a female, he is an absolute brute. He swings and crushes with the wrath of his mighty sword, chopping down all those that dare to stand in his way " the elf made exaggerated gestures with his hands whispering _bang bang_ sounds, much to the amusement of the others.

"Now Glandur, don't be such a cynic" he rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively before turning to Eleanor. "You see, Eleanor. Many a time our patrols have happened upon similar circumstances, it has become somewhat of a legend upon our ranks. They say the Valar have blessed us with a shadow, slaying the orcs before they even reach our borders."

Even though no-one would probably believe it was her, she smiled inwardly. She knew her activities might have been noticed but was quite far from the actual border. Even though she never actively planned to return to the greenwood, she had stayed close all these years. In a small way it felt like she was still doing a little duty to her former home.

"Well, I guess you'll have to see if they cease to appear while I am in your city" she said finally.

"A fine suggestion. A wager then, Glandur?" he turned to face the elf in question who, at this question, chuckled heartily.

"Of course, Neurion, I would gladly take the opportunity to rob you of your coin again."

"So be it" he clapped is large hands together "if in two weeks time no more of the wretched beasts show up slain on our doorstep you shall be in my debt old friend."

"Two weeks?" she interjected "I hardly plan to stay so long!" he turned to look at her, a glint in his eye from the reflection of the firelight.

"We shall see."

At first light they made their move. She hadn't slept much at all, it wasn't that the ground was particularly uncomfortable, she often slept outside, but it was sleeping with other people around that unnerved her. With her elf ears she could hear every sound, especially the breathing of the mortal. It was a wonder they got any sleep at all with him around. In any case, she thought, all she had to do was speak briefly with the king, perhaps make a few apologies and she would be back to the wilderness soon enough.

By the time the sun had reached it's highest point in the sky she could make out a long, stone bridge that she recognised instantly. It was built from the rock of the mountain it led up to and towered over the loud, rushing water below. Two magnificent pillars wrapped tightly in various climbing plants fronted a magnificent oak door flanked by two uniformed guards. After they dismounted, Neurion motioned for her to walk beside him before calling out behind.

"Glandur, take charge of the prisoner, he is not to speak, if he moves out of term then throw him into the river. The rest of you report back to the captain then return to your stations."

Silently, they disbanded one by one leaving a serene silence in their wake. Following Neurion, she approached the familiar doors. As she did so she bit down on her bottom lip as a wave of disquiet pass through her, whether is was borne of nostalgia or nausea she couldn't tell.

The two guards opened the doors and allowed them to pass through, she froze when she felt a sharp object poke her in the back. She turned to see Neurion wave a small dagger in the air.

"Regrettably, I cannot be so trusting of you within the palace."

She nodded, expecting as much, she was a stranger to him after all. In fact, she was surprised how kind he'd been to her in the first place. As they passed through the large entrance and into one of the main reception rooms Eleanor began to think of the days she had spent there as a child. Often, she would be scolded for running around unaccompanied in search of her father who would no doubt be involved in assisting the king late in one way or another. With gritted teeth, she dug her nails into her palms and tried to keep her face devoid of any emotion. Being back in the royal palace was causing memories to resurface and now was really not the time to lose control.

Soon enough they approached the antechamber to the throne room. The whole structure was supported by towering pillars and magnificent archways that were wrought like tree trunks. The room was wide and feral streaks of golden sunlight streamed through the high windows, illuminating the elaborate tapestries and delicate ornaments that graced the walls and tables.

As they neared the entrance to the throne room a booming, authoritative voice grew louder.

"My own two captains, brothers no less, making fools of themselves like drunken scoundrels" the low voice filled even the antechamber and it's evident anger reverberated off the walls.

"I should have you sent to the borders for three, no, four years at least!"

Neurion stood before the double doors and drew a small breath before knocking loudly upon the wood. There was a moment of still silence and he gritted his teeth together before he got his reply.

"Enter!"

The large doors swung open to reveal a grand, circular chamber five times the size of even the largest reception room. It was high and wide and every sound echoed and travelled throughout the space. The dark columns cast heavy, menacing shadows upon the inhabitants and the tall pillars stood proud, illusioning a set of towering archways that led up to the magnificent throne. In front of the chair, shadowed by a pair of prodigious elk antlers, stood the mighty king. He was tall and looming, all of his expression masked by shadow save for the grey eyes twinkling valiantly in the darkness. His face was chiselled and set by thick, luscious eyebrows and upon his head he wore a crown of branches and amber leaves.

To his side stood the two men she assumed had been on the receiving end of his rage. They were near identical and both had heads of sultry, deep brown. One stood with his head hung slightly, the other with his chest puffed out and hands behind his back. Resting languidly in a smaller chair, to the far left of the throne, sat a fairer haired elf that Eleanor didn't notice at first. His blue eyes twinkled with amusement anticipating the events that were about to unfold and as he took a sip of wine from his goblet, he sat up slightly, wanting to get a better view.

Nurien took her by the arm, escorting her past a set of armed guards before kneeling to the ground and, with a stern hand on her back, urging her to do the same.

"Rise, Nurien and Glandur" Thranduil spoke slowly and his low, rich voice infiltrated every space that the grand room had to offer. Glancing towards the two unfamiliar intruders, his top lip tugged upwards slightly in amusement, something only the people closest to him would ever even notice. With piqued interest, he added "explain yourself to me."

"Your highness, while on patrol my company and I intercepted the mortal and the elleth some 200 yards into the eastern border" Neurion stood proudly with his head held up high, though all trace of the aloofness he has shown Eleanor the night before was gone, he was in the presence of a king now. His king.

Thranduil considered Neurion's words for a moment before stepping forward, slow and purposefully with his hands behind his back. For a few moments the only sound was the slick heel click of his boots on the stone floor and Eleanor held her breath in her throat, not wanting to be the one to break the silence.

"And what purpose do you have" he stopped to a halt in front of Eleanor, coming up a full head taller than her and as she looked up into his cool, grey eyes she found herself unable to speak "trespassing in my grounds?" as he spoke, shifting his head slightly, she noticed the light dance against his silvery hair, illuminating every silken strand.

Searching her eyes with his own, openly amused at her flustered reaction, he brought a long ring-clad finger and gently brought her chin upwards so that she was facing him fully. She inhaled his manly scent, her breath catching in her throat. For a second she was so lost in the woodsy aroma of nuts, spices and clean perspiration that she had difficulty trying to formulate a coherent response. Just as she was about to string a sentence of words together she was saved by an interruption from the back of the throne room that caused Thranduil to turn his back to her. As she did so she exhaled a quiet sigh of relief and felt frustration build for allowing herself to act like a fool.

"Actually my King, pardon the interruption but I wouldn't necessarily call the lady a trespasser since she is, in fact, known to us" the fair haired elf that had been hiding in the corner of the room stepped into the light and leaned a languid elbow against the pillar beside him, a smirk plastered on his face "well met Eleanor, it must be centuries now."

"Well met, Arandur" she replied, feeling somewhat relieved to see a familiar face. It was short lived, however since Thranduil looked between the two with raised eyebrows and turned to face her again.

"Your answer, if you please?"

"I was simply doing my duty to apprehend this individual, unfortunately I chased him into the border, had we not been intercepted by the patrol I would have left" she kept her face still and devoid of any emotion as she gestured towards the man, still cowering on the floor.

"She plans to kill me, sir, please, I beseech your mercy I have done nothing-"

"Silence, mortal!" Glandur hissed and brought his knee hard into the man's stomach.

"Is this true?" as he said this, Thranduil smiled placidly at her, his head high and shoulders back.

Taking a deep breath, Eleanor simply nodded her confirmation, not wanting to explain herself further.

He studied her for a second further with an unreadable expression before he slowly sauntered towards the man and leered over him. The man looked up with quivering shoulders and tears brimming his eyes. The mortal tried to control his rapid breathing before swallowing the lump in his throat and opening his mouth to speak. Before he could say anything, though, Thranduil brought his hand to his hip and unsheathed wickedly curved sword. The silver blade glinted proudly as it rose over his head and, for a moment, caught a golden ray of sunlight. In one fluid motion he brought it down on the man, decapitating cleanly his head that rolled onto the floor with open, lifeless eyes. His body followed a second later, hitting the ground with a _thud_ and unleashing from it's neck a thick river of dark, red blood that spilled onto the floor. Wrinkling his nose at the sight, Glandur stepped back not wanting to stain his boots.

Throwing his sword to the floor, Thranduil took three long strides to the center of the room and looked around at his witnesses, daring anyone to speak first. Eleanor seemed to be the only one who was shocked, though she only showed it for a split second. The rest of the elves looked forward impassively save for Arandur who had returned to his seat, a bemused grin plastered on his face.

"Well, Eleanor" Thranduil began "I have completed your task, you are now in my debt. How will you pay me?"

She opened her mouth in protest but before she could say anything the king rose his hand to silence her.

"How will you pay me?" he repeated, quieter this time.

She resisted he urge to speak back, even if she did not agree with his sneaky method it would not do to run her mouth at the king so instead she bit her tongue. She pondered the situation for a moment and silently retrieved a leather purse of jingling coins from her pack.

"This is his bounty, if it pleases you" she said through gritted teeth.

"Do not insult me!" he bellowed and recoiled dramatically "I have no want for your gold, put it away. What kind of respectable lady takes bounties?" She frowned slightly, not knowing why that statement bothered her. She was about to reply until, much to her relief, Arandur stood up to speak.

"Actually, my king, pardon my second interruption but Eleanor is of noble birth from the well respected house of-"

"My lord!" before Arandur had a chance to finish his sentence a dark haired ellon burst through the doors of the rear exit, looking quite bewildered.

"My lord, I beg your pardon for my rudeness but" he stopped in his tracks and glanced at the body on the floor, grimacing for a moment before continuing "I wished to inform you that two from the 12th have been injured-."

"Silence yourself, Irion! What a soft hand I must have for my advisor's to interrupt me and barge into my throne room like insolent children!"

"My lord" The ellon now known as Irion sank to his knees and bowed low to the ground, his arm behind his back "my lord, I humbly ask you forgive my rudeness. I forget myself, I acted most foolishly."

"That you did, Irion. Now, rise and complete your message" said Thranduil, gesturing with his hand for him to do so.

"Two men from the 12th have been wounded encountering a group of orcs" Irion looked worriedly towards the king.

"Why was this allowed to happen?" Thranduil knitted his brows together, all traces of his earlier smirk now banished "I am much displeased" he concluded.

"I am told that the orcs grow bolder and we have not the men to increase patrols, sir" Irion's worried eyes searched the king's face for a reaction.

"Forgive my prudence but if I may make a humble suggestion" said Eleanor, quietly. She didn't know why she'd said it and immediately after she regretted her words but it was something she'd noticed the night before and, if there was at all a chance it would put her in the king''s good books, she had to try it.

Thranduil turned to her and watched her for a second, expecting her to squirm under his gaze but instead she pushed her shoulders back and held her head high, looking at him without flinching.

"Go on" he offered, some of the former smirk returning. She smiled, her defiance had pleased him. So far.

"It understand correctly from my observation, the size of a full company is but 12 men. It may be wise to double the size of the company rather than increasing the frequency of the patrol. This will not only minimize injuries but will simultaneously increase efficiency without having to recruit and train more men" she barely remembered to stop for a breath but point was made. Besides, she knew it would work.

The king looked at her for a few moments afterwards, his face expressionless. Swiftly, he turned to the two brothers.

"What say you, captains? Feredir, Faelon...will it work?"

Feredir shared a look with his brother before turning to the king.

"Sound logic your highness, however-" before he could finish, Thranduil put up a hand to silence him.

"I ask only, will it work?"

Pausing for a moment to silently consult his brother, Feredir quickly nodded "it may do, your highness."

"Make it so" pleased, he stepped away and waved dismissively to the a shocked Irion.

"Forgive my, your highness, but this is outrageous" the flabbergasted man opened his arms in protest "how can you take the word of, well, her on this matter?"

"You lack understanding of things military, Irion. Else you would see that my actions have been correct at all times" his tone grew threatening and he spoke slowly, indicating to the elf that the time for arguments was now over. Raising his hand to his heart, Irion nodded and swiftly left the room.

"Now as for the rest of you, I grow tired of this. Eleanor, until you think of a way to repay my generosity you are to reside in the dungeon" as Feredir and Faelon snickered to each other, she made to protest but a glance from the king told her it was not a suggestion. "As for you two fools" he turned to the brothers "you are to guard her until I see fit to grant release."

"Yes, your highness" Feredir grunted while Faelon rolled his eyes.

"Neurion, you and Glandur clean up this mess and report back to duty."

Stifling a yawn, Thranduil watched as the pair carried the lifeless body out of the room and as Eleanor, escorted by the brothers, sulked into the corridor. She was an unusual creature to say the least, but still, even though one of his closest advisors, Thranduil always took a kind of perverse pleasure in seeing Irion look so flustered. He ascended the stairs to his beloved throne, his quiet footsteps echoing throughout the wide room, and sank into the chair crossing one leg leisurely over the other.

"Arandur, my friend, fetch me some wine" closing his eyes, he rolled his head around his shoulders until he heard the satisfying _click_ s.

Arandur appeared at his side, two golden goblets in hand, one of which he handed to Thranduil and the second he drank from himself. Bringing the cool brim of the goblet to his parched lips, the king let the bitter liquid run down his throat and sighed contentedly.

"Beriadan will not be pleased with a change to the patrols" Arandur spoke quietly and perched himself upon one of the steps.

"Beriadan? What of Beriadan? Capitan of the guard he may be but I am still his king. He will do as I command.."

"Ah, but he has much influence over the guard" Arandur turned to face the king, a worried expression on his face "they trust him."

"Influence?" Thranduil knitted his brows together "what influence? Do not riddle me, my friend, speak directly."

"It is nothing, my king, a passing comment. How about this prisoner of yours, then?" Seeing Arandur's usually calm demeanour return, Thranduil took another sip from the goblet, assured for the time being. He placed his chin between his thumb and forefinger, resting his elbow on his knee and began to speak.

"Ah yes, tell me more of this girl, Arandur. How well is she known to you? Why have I not seen her before? Her silver hair does not escape me."

"Well, doubtless she has changed since last we spoke, I can tell that from her. . .unkempt appearance alone. She was once quite the catch."

"Quite the catch, you say?" his upper lip tugged upwards and his eyebrow raised.

"In both character and appearance. A daughter of nobility in fact."

"Nobility, you say, do continue."

"When her father, was slain she fled the city, I believe you were only an elfling then. Quite the scandal, actually. Valar knows what kind of business she has been attending to all these years but it doesn't look pretty."

"And her father?"

"An aristocrat no less."

"How very interesting"

A daughter of nobility turned renegade assassin? It was absolutely unheard of, a thing of tales. Thranduil took in all that he had learnt, a plan starting to form in his mind. Smiling, he drained the rest of his goblet and sank further into the throne feeling the familiar warmth spread through his limbs.

"How very interesting indeed."

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Well, that's it. That's the first chapter. Hopefully it's not too riddled with inaccuracies, although I did plan this to be slightly AU. Please let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**THE SHADOW**

 **CHAPTER TWO**

Bright light seared his eyelids as Beriadan woke from a deep slumber. Softly the expensive sheets rustled and moved tighter around his lithe body as he shifted on the low bed that lay hidden at the back of his tent. With a yawn, he rubbed his sore, throbbing temples managing to drag himself to his feet. Usually, he could blame the orcs for his injuries but this time is was wholly self-induced. Wine was often in scarce supply at the border so who was he to refuse a drink? But one drink soon turned into six, then seven and by the time the sun was rising he was left to empty his stomach into one the bushes and be carried back to his tent by whoever it was that had found him.

After managing to stand, he pushed his way through the hanging canvas door that separeted his sleeping quaters from the rest of the area. Clumsily, he stumbled around the tent, banging into things as he went until he found the small table and chairs he was looking for. As he sank into the chair, running a large hand through his tangled chestnut hair, he managed to focus on the overflowing pile of scrolls and various bowls of fruit that law strewn across the surface. After stretching out his tired limbs, he plucked a grape from one of the golden bowls and popped it into his mouth, his stomach rumbling with appreciation.

"Captain, sir, permission to enter?" a loud voice rang in his thumping cranium and from outside the tent he could make out the large silhouette of the elf he recognised as Neurion.

Beriadan rolled his eyes, preparing himself for a long winded speech. It wasn't that Neurion was a bad soldier, far from it, but he was the type to do everything by the book. Althought this worked to his favour most of the time, it could prove to be a real hinderence when Beriadan wanted a job done quickly.

"Enter, Neurion" his throat was dry and scratchy and he shielded his eyes as Neurion entered the tent, the bright sunlight escaping through the opening and infiltrating the shadows.

"What news?" he asked, hungrily popping another grape into his mouth.

"We apprehended two trespassers and took them to the king, sir" Neurion swallowed the lump in his throat, anticipating some kind of reaction to the second part of his message "I also bring news of a strategic manoeuvre the king wishes to employ."

Motioning for Neurion to pass him the wax-sealed scroll he held in his hands, Beriadan leaned back in his chair and groaned.

"And what of these trespassers?" Beriadan ripped of the seal and unrolled the stiff parchment, narrowing his eyes suspiciously as he scanned the page.

"One killed on sight, the other taken prisoner I believe. Perhaps you know her, she is-"

"What is this?" Ignoring him, Beriadan rose from the chair to his full hight and sent an accusing stare at Neurion.

"What would that be, sir?" Neruion tried to focus on the elf's eyes, although Beriadan didn't seem to care that only a painfully thin pair of leggings covered his body and nothing else.

"The king wishes to double the companies? He questions my methods? Too often he involves himself in the business of the guards" Beriadan didn't care to watch his tongue for he could feel the frustration filling his body like hot lead.

"The king is well versed in military strategy" Neurion pointed out, but it was evident that Beriadan had no intention to listen.

"I bet I know who is behind this. It's that little scrap Irion, isn't it?" from the day that he had become the king's advisor Irion had always found a way to get under his skin, like a slimy leech draining the blood from all those who he encountered. Even though the king made the final decisions it was more often than not he who, Beriadan felt, involved himself needlessly in their comings and goings.

Not waiting for a reply, the captain stormed past Neurion and through the entrance of the tent, his scantily clad form resulting in an erruption of laughter from the elves that surrounded .

"Irion, you fool. You cannot hide from me!" his loud, gruff voice bellowed through the camp and Neurion could faintly make out the cackles of the men as Beriadan made his way through the many tents. With a sigh, he shook his head and stepped back into the open, wondering how it was that such an ill tempered man had ever been given a position of command.

Cold, hard rock stuck to Eleanor's cheek and as she peeled her self from the stone she grumbled inwardly at the loud voice that had woken her from her slumber.

"I love her deeply, I require she love me also else I am merely her slave" she recognised the quiet voice that belonged to one of her guards and, upon hearing the genuine distress, almost felt a pang of pity for him.

Rubbing at her sore face, she stretched out her long legs one by one and rolled her head around her shoulders, trying to remove the dull ache that sleeping on a hard surface gave her .

"Of course Ithilwen loves you, brother. No doubt she hasn't slept a wink since you left to return to the border" the voice of her second guard was infinitely cheerier which she wouldn't have mined except that it was much louder as well.

She rose to notice a wooden slab with half a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese that had been placed in the corner of the dark cell. She groaned. Three days she had been in the filthy dungeon now and all she'd had to eat was stale bread and cheese. Well, at least the constant bickering of the two brothers had provided her some entertainment. For members of the stoic and legendary royal guard, they certainly did talk an awful lot of rubbish.

"And how would you know so much about the subject of love?"

But for all their amusing conversation there was something else grating far more heavily on her mind. That damned, sneaky king. Not only did he trick her into being in his debt but he also locked her in the dungeon to rot for eternity with not so much as a word. She thought him quite a reprehensible character although, and she was reluctant to admit it, a part of her was quite impressed. On the whole, she had greatly underestimated him. Oh how easy to handle she thought he would be but he saw right through her, she laughed at herself now.

"It's not love I'm talking about, I mean obviously I am a master of love, but more generally speaking it's about women" her attention shifted to the guard's conversation, she could hear the smugness so thick in his voice, it almost made her chuckle.

"You, brother? A master of women? You haven't been able to keep a lady for more than a few weeks" yes, she thought, that sounded about right. It was always the smug ones that never followed through on their claims.

"I don't need have a wife to know what I'm talking about. All women want me, as they logically should. Take that one in there for example, even she wants me, I can tell" she almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it, but she wouldn't make herself known yet. She wanted to see what the brother would say.

"Come on, Faelon, do not speak of her like that."

"It's true though, she wants me badly" Eleanor covered her mouth with her hand, a chuckle threatening to escape.

"Faelon, look at me. She is nobility. You touch her, you die"

Ah, nobility. That damned Arandur as well, if he would have just kept his mouth shut then nobody would have known a thing about her. After all these years living alone it was strange for Eleanor to think of herself as a woman of noble birth. What privilege she could have had, a wardrobe full of pretty dresses, a hand maiden to wait on her every whim. Eleanor shook her head. She did have a life like that, but she gave it all up. Was it really for the better?

"I'm not stupid, I'm just saying she wants me."

It was at that point that Eleanor ejected a loud cough with resulted in Feredir jumping out of his boots and Faelon turning around curiously, an eyebrow raised. At first she'd thought them remarkably alike, even for brothers, but after a three days of listening to their non-stop chatter she realised that it couldn't be farther from the truth.

"Good morning, my lady" Feredir said formally before returning to his front facing position.

"I told you already, you don't have to call me that" she replied, as she had said every morning for the past three days.

"As you wish, my lady" he nodded at her politely, his brown eyes creasing with the smallest of smiles.

"Say, just how long am I going to be here?" she shifted uncomfortably on the stone, raising her boot to the bench she leaned on her arm, balanced on her knee.

"I know not my lady, this is as much a punishment for us as it is for you"

"Punishment? I hardly think so" she snorted, unconvinced.

"Hows that?" Feredir turned round to face her, leaning his hand on the cold wall.

"Well you're not really doing anything, you're just standing around all day" she supressed a smirk, knowing that Feredir being the prouder of the brothers would take the bait without question.

"We are, both of us, captains of the royal guard" he began, his shoulders recoiling in shock as he stammered for words "there is important work that we could be doing!"

"If you're so important then why did the king put you here to guard me?" she stated matter of factly.

He didn't answer, only frowned miserably as he searched his head for a logical answer.

"She's got a point" Faelon added unheplfully, a smirk playing on his unshaven face.

"Silence, Faelon!" Feredir hissed, standing to attention .

"What? I'm just saying-"

"The king approaches!"

"Oh" and with that Faelon took his guards stance, straightening out his back and looking onwards impassively, silently hoping that their conversation wasn't overheard.

"At ease, gentlemen" Eleanor rolled her eyes as the arrogant, booming voice of the king filled the dungeon and surrounded her.

"Good morning, Eleanor, I trust you are well?" Thranduil on his shoulder leisurely against the bars, smirking as his grey eyes rested on a frowning Eleanor.

"Never better your highness" she said through gritted teeth.

"Come now Eleanor, do not be hostile, it is most unbecoming of a lady" she rolled her eyes again as he motioned for Feredir to unlock the gate.

"Since I have heard nothing from you I can only assume that you have no payment for me therefore I have gracefully elected one for you."

Though Faelon did not turn round Eleanor noticed him smirking like a fool. Taking a deep breath and resisting the urge to roll her eyes she replied with a placid smile.

"And what, my lord, is that may I ask?" if he could pretend to be pleasant, so could she. In fact, she'd be even better at it.

"Well, no doubt you will have noticed the magnificent manner in which I beheaded your mortal. Although I am an excellent fighter, the credit is not mine alone" she smiled at him when he paused, inwardly wondering where this was going "you see, it really was an excellent blade I used which unfortunately is now tainted with the blood of a lowly man. Most unbecoming for a king, wouldn't you agree Faelon?"

"Most unbecoming, sir." he agreed, a stupid grin still plastered on his face.

"Consequently, without a blade I am left unguarded and since considering your past times naturally I assume you are a skilled swordsman, I shall be in need of a protector until which time my blade is replaced."

A protector? Was he asking her to be his … bodyguard? Did he hope to humiliate her? Surely not, surely she misunderstood him. It wasn't that she didn't feel herself capable, she was more than capable, but he didn't know that. No, it was obvious he intended to humiliate her then put her to exile, a laughing stock of the city. Although why he would do that, she wasn't sure. Racking her brain for any excuse, she did her best to make her face look innocent and smiled at him.

"Your highness, of course I would be honoured but I regret to inform that you must be mistaken. I have no skill with the blade, my talents lie in only agriculture and culinary business as is the norm for a lady such as I."

She sat still as a rock, a placid smile still plastered on her face. She tried her best to discern his reaction but it was no good, he was unreadable. Though, surely he could not counter that? She might have overplayed it a bit but it was as good an excuse as any.

"Ah, well in that case" yes, she thought, he bought her lie "it wouldn't be fair if I didn't at least give you a chance. Feredir, Faelon give me your swords."

With wide eyes she watched him inspect each sword and then throw one to her. Did he mean for her to fight him? Of course, even if she wanted to, she couldn't beat the king. It wasn't that she was a bad swordsman, quite the opposite, centuries of living alone had made sure of that. No, she had to let him win, didn't she? But if she lost she would be humiliated still. But which was the lesser of two evils? There was nothing for it, she would have to just be humiliated and let him win. Which, is what she would have planned to do, had he not turned to face her and , as if reading her thoughts, casually comment.

"Oh, and by the way, do not feel as though you must downplay your abilities because I am king, I shall not be doing so because you are a lady" his cool eyes flickered towards her own, silently challenging her to rise up to the fight "trust me, I will notice."

As she stood up, sword in hand, Thranduil's smile grew wider and not even a worried looking Feredir , shaking his head silently pleading with her to back down, could dissuade her. It was her downfall really, her own competitive spirit that made it almost impossible to say no. But how had he known that she would call his bluff? It was as if with one look into her eyes, Thranduil knew everything about her. Everything he could use to manipulate her to his advantage. The arrogance of it all made her feel sick.

He motioned for her to come out of the cell and as she did so she tried her best to keep an empty face. She stood in the middle of the narrow corridor and looked at him directly, keeping her head high and her shoulders back. He frowned. Was she really so displeasing?

"Follow me, all of you" Thranduil made towards the stairs.

Perhaps he had changed his mind, she thought. Of course, even with her skill, he could most probably beat her. Though she was older than him, he was taller and, by the looks of it, stronger. If she was honest with herself, thought she would never show it, it might be a relief if the king decided to back down from the fight.

But she wouldn't be so lucky.

While she was lost in her own thoughts, blindly following him, she hadn't even noticed that they'd stepped into one of the large reception rooms where many elves sat. As they walked in all chatter stopped and the immediate silence pulled her out of her thoughts. All eyes turned to her and the king and she suddenly felt a wave of shame looking at all the beautifully kept ladies in their flowing dresses. If she'd stopped to really look around she might have even recognised some of the faces but there was no time for that, all too quickly the king had turned to face her, sword in hand, motioning for her to get ready.

With a deep breath she pulled her shoulders back and assumed a fighting stance, making sure not to lock her knees and holding the hilt outwards with both hands. The sword was thin and light but with a dangerously sharp point, this was good. Since Thranduil had a considerable advantage in the strength category, she needed all the help she could get. But, without the brute force of a heavier blade, she would have to compensate in agility and technique.

Eleanor tried to ignore the wide stares of all the elves that had now moved to the back wall of the room and focused on all that she had learnt the past years. As she studied him she witnessed the transformation from the haughty, arrogant elf she had seen earlier to a king. He stood tall and confident, his silver hair casting a valiant silhouette for his angular features. Gone was the smug expression he wore earlier, instead replaced with a face truly betraying no emotion. The only non-variable was his eyes, still unchanging, deep vast pools of grey challenging, no, begging her to make the first move.

For a handful of heartbeats they stood like that, each willing the other to make the first move. The silence hung thickly in the air. She was so close to striking first that she almost couldn't defend herself when, with a leisurely flick of the wrist, Thranduil struck her twice. Two singular _clangs_ rang out in the stale air and he looked down at her with a raised eyebrow as gasps ran out in the audience.

He was testing her. He was testing her and she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of her failure.

They circled each other and Thranduil struck at her again. But she anticipated him. This time it was all to easy for her to defend herself. She swung her sword at him too, but all he had to do was lean back for it glide easily over his head, hissing through the air. She narrowed her eyes at him and he smirked in return. He thrust at her repeatedly as the swords clashed again and again in a loud parry. Eleanor swung the blade round in a circle. The elven king ducked, missing it by an inch and retaliated with a jab to her gut.

Over and over they moved like lithe dancers, weaving in and out, each one trying to gain leverage over the other. Many times she felt the quick gust of air against her cheek, narrowly missing the blade and assuring her that the danger was real. All too quickly, the once light sword grew heavy in her hand but the elven king showed no signs of fatigue so neither would she. For a while she had controlled the fight, the onlookers gasping as she pushed him close to the back wall but he had forced her towards the stairwell, attacking with such speed she could barely defend herself.

The stairs were very close behind her now. Eleanor continued to retreat; the king continued advancing. Then Eleanor countered with the blade. The king blocked it. She stepped back and felt the floor disappear underneath her heel.

"Do you yield?" he was so close that he only needed to whisper for her to feel his hot breath on her face.

Thinking on her feet, she half lunged to the left, knowing that he would follow and she used the distraction to lunge past him. Spinning round on the balls of her feet, she turned to face him but he was too quick and too clever. With a loud _twang_ the sword flew out of her hand and she cursed herself under her breath.

"Do you yield?" his lip tugged upwards in a small smirk but for a second she could have sworn she saw a single bead of sweat roll down his neck.

"I yield" she managed to reply, her shoulders quivering with pants. He watched on amused as she bowed her head, ashamed, with her arms open in defeat but what she didn't account for was the room errupting in a array of applause and congratulation. She rose to her full height, looking around bewildered at the many elves who were clapping and smiling.

"Eleanor" he called to her, snatching back her attention. She looked down at his long outstretched fingers and took them in a firm shake. He shot her a smile but it wasn't smug or arrogant this time, in fact she couldn't quite tell what it was.

"Come Eleanor, follow me."

Eleanor sank into the large, comfortable chair, her muscles throbbing with ache. Thranduil sat opposite her, waiting patiently while a pretty elleth poured tea into two small, ornate cups. She would have felt out of place among all the finery but at this point she was too tired to care. After the petite elleth finished pouring the tea, the king motioned for her to leave the room and as the large doors clicked shut they were enveloped into a silence.

"You fight well" he commented, casually taking a sip from the steaming liquid.

"Thank you, your highness, you performed excellently" she replied bluntly, crossing one tired leg over the other.

"Come now, enough of the pleasantries. I am sure you are desperate to know what my plans for you are" he mirrored her posture, crossing his leg as well and she nodded, not wanting to exert herself with speech.

"My sword will be complete in approximately twelve weeks, by which time you will have completed your duty as my guard. As we have seen, you are more than capable of defending me within the city so resistance is futile" he paused for any objections but there were none "I will not treat you like a prisoner unless you give me reason to do so, you were once a respectable citizen here so I am told. Ithilwen will escort you to a room I have provided, there you may rest and prepare yourself to be formally introduced."

"Formally introduced?" she looked up from the steaming cup she held in her hands, feeling a surge of warm nervousness pass through her "what do you mean?"

"Of course, despite your absence, you are still a daughter of nobility" he looked at her as if she should have already known this would happen "you must present yourself to the rest of the court" he said before adding nonchalantly "actually, a lot of people would be honoured to have their return announced by the king himself."

"Oh" she swallowed a lump in her throat "oh, well I shall be...present?"

He threw back his head theatrically and bellowed a loud, musical laugh. The rays of sun streaming through the large front-facing window danced in his hair as he moved and his white teeth shone brilliantly in the light. When she looked at him like that she could almost forget that he was the reason she was in this mess in the first place.

"I should hope so" he looked at her, bemused for a second before calling the elleth back and making his leave.

For a while Eleanor walked in silence, unsure of what to say. The girl was a pretty type, nice figure and with long beautiful hair. After a few minutes she turned to Eleanor, her large eyes creasing in a warm, inviting smile.

"By the way, my name is Ithilwen. I know who you are lady Eleanor, it's nice to meet you" her voice was sweet and genuine and something about her made Eleanor want to trust her.

"It's nice to meet you too" she replied quietly, ignoring the honorific.

Ithilwen, she thought. Where had she heard that name before?

"Oh! I heard someone talking about you earlier" she blurted out, immediately wishing that she'd kept her mouth shut. She made a mental note not to speak so easily next time.

"You did?" Ithilwen spun round and looked up at her, her mouth open in expectation "who was it? What did they say?"

"Oh well, maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it, I don't want to spread gossip" Eleanor scratched her head nervously. She knew how things went in high society and, if she was staying here for twelve weeks, she didn't want to gain her reputation to precede her.

"Surely if it was about me, then it's not really gossip" the young elleth smiled sweetly at her.

"Well, I guess so" it was sound enough logic, wasn't it? "All I heard was someone say that they loved you, I think he is called Feredir."

"Oh" she immediately threw her head back with a musical laugh "that's just my husband. Did he really say that? I doubt it."

"Oh, no, he really did say it. He said 'I love her deeply, I require she love me also else I am merely her slave'" Eleanor did her best to imitate the man's deep voice and used various hand gestures which resulted in another loud laugh from Ithilwen.

"That's a great impression my lady, I would just refrain from repeating it in Feredir's presence."

Eleanor nodded and smiled as the two walked onwards. Soon enough the pair neared a set of large, ornate doors which Ithilwen pushed open to reveal a huge circular room.

When Eleanor stepped into the chamber her mouth dropped. The ceiling was high and the walls were a beautiful marbled white and gold. In the middle of the room was a delicate table with six chairs, atop of which lay her own bow and quiver. Against the back wall between two large glass windows rested a beautiful book case laden with heavy, leather bound novels and in the corners were two small wooden tables upon which rested a pair of silver lamps. In the front of the room was a small kitchen and across most of the floor lay expensive looking rug.

"Through the left is the bathroom, through the right is the bedroom. If you need, I can stay and help you to wash and dress" Ithilwen smiled at her genuinely but Eleanor was still too shocked to speak.

"I'm staying here?" finally the words found their way out of her mouth although she still didn't believe them.

"Yes, the room took three days to prepare" Ithilwen looked at her with a confused expression as if she should have already known this.

Three days, she thought a little guiltily. All this time in the dungeon she cursed the man who was punishing her but in reality he had been readying this beautiful place for her to stay. But for what reason? Surely, there was an ulterior motive. Obviously, she had to work as his personal guard but for most people that was more of an honour than anything. Why was he treating her so nicely?

"Lady Eleanor? Do you need me to stay?" her head snapped up, realising she'd been lost in her suspicious thoughts.

"Oh, forgive me Ithilwen, I was just lost in my thoughts. I'll be fine by myself, thanks."

"Excellent, my lady, I shall return at the seventh hour to escort you to dinner" with that the elleth turned to leave.

"Thank you Ithilwen, oh and by the way" the elf in question turned back in anticipation "Eleanor is just fine."

"Of course" she nodded and continued down the corridor. 

Surveying her new chambers, she closed the doors behind her, tracing her finger over the smooth wood. As she stepped into the bathroom the light scent of flowers and honey hit her nostrils and she breathed in deeply, immedietly calmed. The room had a clean tile floor and tile walls with five steps leading up to a square shaped bath which was already full of steaming water and to the left of the spacious room lay a huge, gleaming mirror against the wall and a basin with soaps and towels.

Perching on a low wooden stool that sat by the bath tub, she unclasped and threw her heavy cloak to the ground and began to peel off her boots. As one came off, she grimaced at the thick odor of her feet and threw it to the other side of the room. After she removed the rest of her sweat stained clothing she walked over to the mirror and began to detangle her hair. Inwardly she cringed at her reflection, ashamed especially after seeing the pretty Ithilwen that anyone had seen her like this at all.

Her once shining hair was dull and matted into a messy braid while her cheeks were gaunt and splattered still with tiny freckles of blood. Any fat she'd carried was banished long ago and all that was left was a thin frame of jutting bones and sallow skin. At one point her eyes had shone but she couldn't remember it now. With a sigh, she walked over to the bathtub and tentatively stepped in.

As she sank into the calming waters her muscles screamed at her in relief and after resting for a few minutes she made to work at cleaning herself. Slowly and carefully she unwrapped the beautiful soap from it's delicate wrapper. At one time she would have thought nothing about using finery like this but in that moment it felt like the nicest thing she'd ever owned. Relishing in the hot water, she took her time in washing her long hair, freeing every tangle, and lathering every inch of her skin until she was satisfied that no dirt remained.

Wrapping a soft towel around her, she walked through the entryway and into the bedroom, enjoying the cool floor on the soles of her tired feet. The room was equally as grand as the last two but something about it left a warm feeling in her stomach. To the back wall was a large wooden bed flanked by two clawfoot nightstands atop of which sat the pack she'd arrived with and two silver lamps, identical to the ones in the living room. Against the far wall was a beautiful white dressing table and a circular mirror with a small, delicate chair and to the left was an enormous wardrobe, half open and filled with an array of colourful fabrics.

Tentatively she stepped forwards and opened one of the creaking doors to the wardrobe, on most of the hangers were unfinished dresses, stuck with pins and with ribbons hanging off them but hanging most plainly in sight, waiting to be found was a garment she recognised instantly. Running her fingers over the expensive blue fabric, she breathed a gasp of amazement as she read the neatly written note that was attatched to the hanger with a pretty string.

 _From Alassiel._

Alassiel had been one of her closest friends before she'd left and it was to her that she gave most of her posessions. She supposed that Arandur had informed her of Eleanor's arrival, hence the dress. She felt a pang of mixed feelings in her gut at the thought of meeting her old friend again and hoped desperately that there wouldn't be any hard feelings.

Searching further through the wardrobe she retrieved a modest chemise and, after a few minutes of remembering where everything actually went, pulled it on. Next, she slipped the gown off the hanger and, stepping into it, pulled it up her body taking special care not to rip the thin fabric. She slid her arms through the delicate gossamer half-sleeves and turned to the mirror, to fasten the small buttons at the back.

At the time when she had been interested in these things, it had always been one of her favourite dresses. She was truly shocked that Alassiel had kept it all these years and made a mental note to thank her when she saw her. The pale blue, almost grey, dress bore an open neckline which just slipped off the shoulders leading down to half sleeves embroidered with tiny, clear beads. The thin fabric came in at the waist and then exploded in to a beautiful skirt of thick, tiered chiffon which cascaded elegantly towards the floor.

Just as she was sitting at the dressing table, finishing her hair into a braided half crown, she heard a soft knock at the door. Making her last adjustments, she walked over towards the entrance, still trying to get used to the feeling of wearing a dress again.

With a deep breath she pulled back the heavy doors, running her tumb over the cold golden handle and smiled when she saw Ithilwen in a pretty rose coloured gown, her golden hair fixed neatly into a thick braid.

"Oh, Ithilwen, you look so lovely-" Eleanor began.

"Eleanor" Ithilwen interrupted, not bothoring to use honorifics this time "by the valar..."

"What is it?" she replied, anxiety creeping up her spine. Was the dress out of fashion? Did she do her hair wrong? It had been so long since she was involved in these things she couldn't be sure whether she looked appropriate anymore.

"You look..." Ithilwen stared at her, wide eyed and still blocking the doorway.

"Is it that bad?" Eleanor looked down, dejectedly, starting to play with her thumbs.

"Eleanor, you look so beautiful."

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Well, second chapter over. I hope the sword scene is okay, I've never picked up a sword in my life but I tried to do my research. As for Eleanor's dress, if anyone wants to see it if you search 'Hamada al fahim fall 2012' it should come up. Anyway, thanks for reading and please review!


	3. Chapter 3

**THE SHADOW**

 **CHAPTER THREE**

Thranduil took a long drink from his goblet. The dinner had gone well and so far it looked like Eleanor was being well received. Not to mention, she seemed to have undergone quite the transformation. When she walked through the door he almost couldn't believe it was her. Gone was the blood-spattered, battle torn warrioress and out had bloomed a delicate, shining flower. Though, he had to confess, he liked her either way. Even after three days and nights in the dungeon, he still admired the gleam of her silver hair. He'd always had a weakness for silver.

He felt a little guilty about her imprisonment but what was a mere three days to an elf? It was a snap of the fingers, no even quicker than that, it was the blink of an eye. And how how she had fought him. He could tell she was skilled but he hadn't expected so much, there was something about her ferocity that enticed him so much. Even now, seeing the thin fabric cling to her petite shoulders made his groin swell with desire. But, he was a king, mighty ruler of the woodland realm. He could push his sexual desires to the back of his mind and concentrate on the much more dangerous task at hand. Politics.

Eleanor sat towards the back of the room, rolling a singular grape between her fingers. For so many years she was used to sticking to the shadows and avoiding attention so when she was presented to all the fine noble men and women, by the king no less, she really did feel like a bit of a nervous wreck. And speaking of his royal highness, the king really was a most confusing matter to her. He was very handsome. Dashingly so, but that went without saying. What threw her off was that one minute he seemed to be acting an awful, manipulative brute and the next he was sending her off to a royal suite and singing her praises over a feast. Not that she was complaining, but it was a most confusing situation.

She would have considered it more had she not been quickly pulled out of her thoughts by a light tap on her back. Turning round to face the assailant she was nearly tackled out of her chair as she felt a pair of long arms embrace her and the scent of jasmine invade her nostrils.

"So it is true then, you really have returned to us."

"Alassiel, I am so happy so see you" Eleanor felt a genuine smile spread across her face as she took in the familiar face of her oldest friend.

"I thought I'd never see you again" Alassiel took her hand and squeezed in gently, her soft voice playing musically in Eleanor's ears.

"I'm sorry-" she began, looking down and pulling her hand away.

"Now, don't start that. Tell me, what is new with you?" Alassiel took a stand of her hair and wrapped it around her pale finger.

"Nothing is new with me" she replied quietly, mirroring her actions and playing with her own hair.

"Come on, you're telling me absolutely nothing has happened to you in the past 1000 years?" a mischievous grin spread across her face as she playfully grabbed Eleanor's shoulder.

"Ah, so it's been that long has it?" Eleanor returned the grin, any nervousness she had had about their reconciliation was soon washed away and for perhaps the first time since she'd been here she started to feel comfortable.

"Come Eleanor, now we're together again it feels as though it's been no time at all."

"Oh! I meant to say, thank you for lending me this dress. I really do appreciate it."

"Nonsense, I am simply returning it to you. I haven't worn it, not once. You look quite lovely by the way."

Eleanor was about to return the compliment when she noticed a sour look flash across her old friend's face at something approaching behind her.

"Eleanor, darling, how pleased I am to see you again, my heart sings with joy. How you honour us with your presence! So many years we have missed you my dear" a shiver ran through her as she immediately recognised the long, theatrical drawl of a woman she'd been quite happy to forget about.

"Eleanor, you remember my mother, Raina" said Alassiel shortly.

"A pleasure, my lady , how long it has been" the woman in question surveyed her through long, fluttering eyelashes.

"And may I introduce you to my son, Aurelius."

A young ellon stepped from behind her shadow, eyeing her coolly. He had his mother's blue eyes but shared the same chestnut hair as his sister, truly they bore a remarkable resemblance. He was very young indeed, only just past maturity but her measures, but he stood tall and proud trying to shy away from his mother's fussings.

"Aurelius, say hello my dear child"

"Mother, I can speak for myself" he said before turning to her "it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, I have heard much of you from my sister these past days" the boy was extremely well spoken and his voice carried the traditional undertones of nobility, a quiet confidence though not so much to be classed as arrogant.

As Aurelias scowled, Raina put her arms around them both and squeezed a little too forcefully.

Eleanor tried to conceal her confusion as Alassiel shot her a sympathetic look. True, it had been many years since last she had seen the elder elleth but she hadn't remembered them ever being particularly close to warrant such a warm reception. In fact, in all the visits she paid to Alassiel they had spoken a mere handful of times. Because of this, her overwhelming kindness came as quite a shock. If she didn't know any better, she would think it genuine and be flattered but if Eleanor had learnt anything over the years, it was that no one was without ulterior motive. No one at all.

So long winded were the formal pleasantries they exchanged, complimenting outfits and making small talk, that Eleanor almost didn't notice the tall elleth that had been glaring at the two of them from the shadows. As the woman approached Raina plastered a large smile upon her face and turned to greet her, but for all her acting Eleanor wasn't convinced. Though she boasted a welcoming smile that might have fooled anyone else, her eyes were empty, cold even and her demeanour lacked any warmth.

"Eleanor, is it? I'm afraid we haven't been formally introduced."

She was long limbed and with flowing locks the colour of a newborn sun, her cheeks were flushed with rose and her eyes were an icy blue, spread evenly apart and sitting below well groomed eyebrows. As she leaned in to kiss her on the cheek Eleanor smelt the deep, sultry scent of jasmine on her skin and the hand she placed on her shoulder was to the touch, as light as a feather.

"Eleanor, this is Vanya" Alassiel told her quietly.

"A pleasure to meet you my dear, please, walk with me" Vanya said, taking her by the arm.

Vanya led her around the hall until they reached one of the many tables that bordered the room. Taking a seat, Vanya demurely tucked one ankle behind the other and leant her chin leisurely on her hand, her elbow on the table.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquittance" Eleanor began formally before Vanya shook her head with a smile and went to take her hand.

"You really are very beautiful you know" she said softly.

"Thank you, that's very kind of you" Eleanor replied, a blush rising to her cheeks. Pulling in her hand, Vanya leaned towards her and although her eyes glinted knowingly her smile dropped and all of a sudden she looked very serious. The overhead chandelier cast a shadow on her angular features and a some of her fell in a curtain alongside her face.

"Eleanor" she began, speaking nearly in a soft whisper "I know what you think, but I must warn you this. Raina is being nice to you simply because you have the favour of the king."

Eleanor was about to object but, seeing this, Vanya shook her head making it clear that she needed to listen.

"She is a power hungry woman, her character goes against the peaceful nature of us elves. You must listen to me when I tell you to that she will stop at nothing to get what she wants. She has already ruined-"

"Eleanor!" Vanya was cut off when a tall, blonde ellon approached them and as if with a flip of a switch her shoulders relaxed and a warm smile sprung to her face as she stood up and placed a soft kiss on the lips of the intruder.

"Eleanor I see you have met my wonderful wife" Arandur said, letting a loving gaze linger over the elleth in question.

"Oh! You two are married? Congratulations" she replied, standing to give Arandur a congratulatory embrace.

"We have been together for over 500 years, though I guess belated congratulations are better than none" Arandur laughed and took a seat beside the two.

As Eleanor watched the couple she couldn't help but make comparisons in her head. Raina was beautiful, as all elves were. With long, flame coloured hair she easily stood out from the crowd and no doubt her position as a woman of nobility was enviable to many. She knew all the things to say, and the proper things to do but unlike her kind-hearted daughter, she had a coldness to her. A coldness she couldn't always hide. Perhaps her problem was that, often, she said too much. Vanya, on the other hand, was radiant and poised. She carried herself with a natural elegance and glided instead of walked. Her pale eyes were knowing and her smile was full of warmth, but fire could be just as dangerous as ice.

Thranduil looked on from where he stood, goblet in hand, at the events that had just transpired. It was no secret to him, and in fact many members of the court, that the woman had an agenda. She had made it known when she decided to try and publicly shame Vanya all those years ago. It was quite the scandal, and since elves had long memories, hard to forget.

He obliged her patiently as once again Raina introduced him to her daughter, making comments here and there on how pretty she looked and what youthful virtues she had. In fact, he almost felt sorry for the young elleth since it was painfully obvious in the way that she searched the room for someone that wasn't there that she had eyes for another. Although, he wasn't offended, it was quite endearing to watch the girl grow nervous around the king. But what really interested him was the quiet conversation he'd witnessed between Eleanor and Vanya before his faithful advisor had interrupted them.

Taking another sip from his nearly empty goblet he made his farewells and strode over to where the three sat.

"My faithful confidant, Arandur, and his lovely wife. What a picture you both make, how it warms my heart to see what joy you bring each other."

Although, amusingly, he noticed Eleanor raise an eyebrow, what he said was true. Long had Arandur served the king and indeed his father before him, upon meeting Vanya his loyalty had only increased as he strived to become the respected scholar that she wished him to be. Their courtship had been a long one, even by elven standards, full of drama and mischief but ever the chivalrous type, he had not given up and for his perseverance he had been rewarded with a love that would burn brightly for many years to follow.

Watching the pair all this time had even sometimes stirred something in him, not jealousy or envy, nothing so despicably human, but perhaps a quiet respect. Something becoming of an elven king. As Arandur finished his greetings Thranduil turned to Eleanor and held out his long, ring-clad fingers to her.

"I hope you don't mind if I steal the woman of the hour?"

"Of course not, your highness, how could I object?"

As Eleanor placed her warm hand in his cold fingers she smiled sweetly and rose to his side, keeping eye contact as she did so. But even though she was confident in her eyes he could see a slight suspicion still. For what, though, he could not understand. She was well dressed and well fed, he provided her with a beautiful room and even allowed her a chance to prove her worth in a sword fight of all things. He had been a gracious host, well apart from the dungeon incident but surely he had more than made up for that. He had slain her enemy, for Valar's sake, if that wasn't an honourable gift then he didn't know what was. For all that the young king had learnt in his life, the matter of women baffled him still.

He led her silently through the large hall, her hand on his arm, oblivious by now to the many gazes of the members of his court. Soon enough the passed through a large archway that led into one of the many galleries in the palace.

"I trust you find your dwellings well?"

"They are most pleasing, I thank you for your hospitality" she coolly replied.

They walked in silence for a few minutes more before they cam to a halt in front of a large wall decorated with an elaborate tapestry. The tapestry depicted a time line of thick forest, threaded with the deepest shades of black, brown and green. There were figures of wolves and deep red fires, crumbling buildings and weeping maidens but gradually, as it crept across the long wall, the colours grew lighter and in space of the darkness, woven were clouds, from which fell rays of sunlight upon figures of smiling women with babies. They stood there, admiring the craftsmanship, for a few moments more before Thranduil turned to her and broke the tension.

"Although the palace is filled with many treasures, this remains one of my favourites. It depicts the sacrifice my father gave to our people. Although sometimes we are savage, especially it seems in the eyes of other elven folk, within each of us resides the longing for peace. You must know this too" he felt Eleanor gently squeeze where her hand still rested on his arm, it was a sign of unspoken respect.

"It is a beautiful tribute" she commented after a further few moments of silence.

It was in the narrow corridor that he noticed her a little differently than before. In his eagle eyes, her silken head shone brilliantly like silver, each piece a long strand of treasure, every hair as precious as the last. But, as often was the case, he was blinded by his weakness for all things that glittered. In the low lamp light he saw, away from company, she didn't smile and her eyes were somewhat dim. Deep pools they were, of knowledge and experience but lacking the spark of life that made one whole. Before, in the bright halls of the people, he saw her dainty and pale, a perfect prize that attracted many an enviable stare. But here in the near-shadow she seemed to him delicate, even fragile, and he couldn't help but notice now how thin her arm was on his.

He didn't quite know himself what it was about her that interested him so, indeed many an elleth had come through his chamber and gone, but there was something about her that inspired a dangerous curiosity. He could have easily let her rot in the dungeon, he could have even let her go but for many years his attention had not been captured like this and, selfishly perhaps, he had bound her to stay. Even if only for a short while. In any case, if she shone this brightly in a time of sadness he greatly anticipated what a vision she would be at her full strength. And with that thought he let out a small sigh, reminding himself that he was a king. How could a mere elleth have distracted him so in the space of four days?

Letting his eyes again wonder over the intricate tapestry he felt the familiar twisting pain in his gut that arose whenever he thought of his father. He wasn't blind to his subjects, he knew when he took the throne that many people saw him too young to rule. And, perhaps he was, but who else had the right to do it for him? No-one. No-one would dare.

Gone were the childhood days where he could waste away the hours staring at the vast, open sky and watch the seasons change from underneath the tall oak trees. As father and son relationships went they weren't that close, but at the end of the day they had each other. And all too quickly, right before his very eyes, the Valar saw it fit to take him away, leaving him alone and scared. And he really was scared too, he was terrified, not only did he have to hold himself up but the weight of a whole realm had, overnight, fallen onto his youthful shoulders.

Many late nights he had spent swallowed by darkness, sinking into the new throne that felt too large for him, letting the wine wash his sorrows away and fade into the stone. But the whispers grew louder and the people's uneasiness became increasingly apparent and even his subjects dared look upon his sulken frame with pity in their eyes. And if there was one thing that he hated more than anything, it was pity. It was then that he built this mighty armour, enveloping himself in his kingdom and his duties, withdrawing into his personal fortress. He would let everyone know that they were coping, no, thriving. He would make sure that his beloved realm rose, reborn from the ashes that Oropher's loss had left behind. He would become the greatest elven king in history, or he would die trying. Anything to live up to his father's memory, nothing would tarnish that. He would not allow it.

So long had it been now that sometimes he didn't even remember himself. In a way, the lives of the common folk were enviable. They were defined by their traits, named after them even but he had become such a slave to his title he had difficulty discerning what type of person he was. This was why, even though it always brought the same twisting feeling in his gut, he still returned to the tapestry. To the memory of his father. It was a reminder of his past, and his legacy. It was why, as he studied her, he recognised the familiar look in Eleanor's eye. He recognised it because he shared that look. It was probably why he felt so drawn to her, like he needed to stop her from becoming a shadow of himself. It was why when she squeezed his arm, a simple and gentle act of reassurance, he didn't pull away like he usually would.

"Heavy lies the crown" she finally said, pulling him from his thoughts, her quiet voice slicing the thick silence like a sharpened blade.

"Indeed it does, young elleth, but only to those who ought not to wear it" he replied, watching her from the corner of his eye.

"I'm older than you" she accused, pulling her hand away and crossing her arms over her chest, much to his amusement before adding, quieter this time, "your majesty."

"Eleanor" he replied, matter of factly, a small smile beginning to play on his lips again "know you not how incredibly impolite it is to speak of a lady's age?"

She opened her mouth in shock, about to reply but the both of them were interrupted by the rapid succession of uneven footsteps quickly approaching from the other end of the corridor.

"Irion, what is it?" he said gravely, eyeing the blood-spattered elf.

"Your highness, you must come quickly, there has been a terrible complication at the border."

Eleanor sat on a small wooden chair outside the healing house, dipping her head in her hands, her pale fingers clawing at her hair in distress. One of the captains had returned with extensive injuries after a patrol was ambushed and all because, at her suggestion, they had changed the routine of the patrols. How could she think she knew better than the royal guard? She was playing a fool's game. If one of them died, she would never forgive herself, the king would probably blame her too. If she could, she would take their places in a heartbeat. She wanted to shrivel up and die.

She lifted her head when she felt a soft hand on her shoulder and turned to look into the young face of Aurelius, Alassiel's younger brother.

"You shouldn't feel bad" he stated, she supposed he was making an attempt to console her.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but you do not understand, it really is my fault" she began, starting to feel a deep pool of guilt welling up inside of her.

"Please, my sympathy does not come so easily" he replied as she looked at him, confused "I am only saying that logically speaking, you need not feel upset."

"How's that, then?" she asked, her curiosity piquing and pulling her, momentarily, from her despair.

"Because Beriadan, that's one of the three guard captains, is no deep philosopher, he will take Thranduil's order to change strategy as an insult to his rank" he rolled his eyes as she looked even more confused than before "Thranduil doesn't want to strike the first blow against an old friend, so he wishes to lure Beriadan into attacking him first."

"Attacking? What are you talking about Aurelius?"

"Of course you don't know this, having arrived so recently, but Beriadan has grown to be too much of a liability to Thranduil. He hasn't returned from the border in ten years, he's practically a wild beast. The men respect him but truth be told, placing power in his hands is a great folly."

"So you mean to say, that Thranduil used my strategy not out of faith that it would work but in hope that it would fail and kill Beriadan?"

"Don't be ridiculous, if Beriadan dies under his strategy then the blame will fall on to Thranduil and he will lose favour with the people. No, he anticipated Beriadan would defy his orders, which he did, so that next time there was an injury the blame would be Beriadan's alone, painting him as the villain. Luckily for him it only took a day."

"That's...very clever" she concluded, placing a thoughtful finger on her chin "it's awful, but damned clever."

"Yes" Aurelius nodded "Thranduil is quite the strategist."

"So he used me as a pawn in his plan?" she said, frowning. Should she be annoyed by that?

"Do not take it to heart, Eleanor, no doubt if Beriadan had changed the patrol Feredir may have been spared an injury. Thranduil would not have put in place a motion that would reflect badly on him."

"How do you know all of this?"

"It's not so difficult to see if one has open ears, most of the people here have mouths like drains" although he said that with no comedic intention, it roused a chuckle in Eleanor and she gripped his shoulder in a friendly gesture as he looked at her curiously. He looked like he was about to speak more on the matter but their attention was quickly stolen by a young page boy who had burst through the double doors of the antechamber.

"My lady Eleanor, the king requests your presence" he said through panted breaths.

Feredir rose his throbbing head wearily from the hard, starched sheets he had been laid on. He was having great difficulty focusing his vision and all he could make out was the faint glow of a lamp somewhere in darkness. He assumed it was night time, it had taken him and his brother half a day at full speed to reach the border and just as they had arrived one of the patrols had been ambushed by a large pack of orcs. He winced as he tried to sit up, a terrible pain shooting through his gut and, letting the sedative take over him again he lay his head back down and ran a hand over his stomach, feeling a thick layer of clean bandages.

He groaned, trying to piece his fractured memories together. He was cornered, three of the ugly fuckers on top of him, one of them lunged forward, ramming him with one of their piss poor excuses for weapons. But why wasn't he dead? That was right, someone had saved him. Someone tall, with a foul mouth and deep chestnut hair. Faelon? No, Faelon had fallen back to defend the camp. Beriadan. It was Beriadan that took down those fuckers. Beriadan had saved his life.

It must have been a bad wound as well, he concluded, because the medics would never usually give him this much sedative. He had never been drugged so much he couldn't see before, and he'd been injured pretty badly in his time. His eyes flew open as the sound of a door clicking shut caught his attention. At least he thought it was a sound, he could have been hallucinating for all he knew. Maybe it was Ithilwen, his sweetheart come to visit him in his time of need, not that he would be able to satisfy her attention in this state.

Feredir froze as he felt a cold hand grip his arm, someone really was there but it wasn't Ithilwen. No, hers was a touch he would recognise in any condition.

"My young friend, what a mess you have found yourself in" Feredir tried to focus on the voice but it was dreamlike and floated around his ears, it was male, of that he was sure, but he couldn't tell much else in his drugged state.

Feredir tried to turn his head but his body wouldn't follow, he blinked again and again in a vain attempt to focus his vision but the sedative was too strong for him to work against.

"Renounce him, my friend. Align yourself with us and watch him wither away. It is you who has the power. It is you the soldiers truly love" the slow, elusive whisper wrapped around him like smoke, filling his mind and troubling his conscience.

Feredir tried force the words out but he couldn't speak, no matter how hard he strained no sound would escape, he could only fumble blindly with his fingertips, managing to graze the sleeve of the arm that held him down.

"It is the king who has landed you here, it is his misconduct that has nearly killed you, he must be crushed."

Calling upon all his energy, Feredir scrambled with his fingers again at the sleeve feeling the soft, expensive material but all too quickly the hand pulled away and pressed firmly onto his stomach, sending a blade of searing, blinding pain all throughout his body. He screamed. He screamed with his mind and his soul, he screamed with his whole body but no sound would come out.

"Remember this pain."

As the hand released him, he had only enough energy left to dig his nails into his palms and as he arched his back and scrambled for air to reach his lungs. Finally, regaining his breath, he let the pain draw him in and was surrounded by a deep, dreamless unconsciousness as the last wafts of a putrid ink smell swam around his nostrils and the fading sound of uneven footsteps left the room.

Thranduil stood at the head of a large, round table and looked into the anxious eyes of the members of his council. Thirty were there here, Arandur arriving late having been the last to hear the news. It had been many months since the council had been held together for nothing was of particular significance but the king had called this emergency meeting to discuss a matter of dire importance.

"Members of the council, I call upon you at this dark hour to answer the issue of Beriadan, captain of the royal guard."

His low, powerful voice pervaded the air, reminding everyone present of his leadership. If any members of the council were shocked, they didn't show it but then again these were seasoned politicians, renowned for their ability to appear impassive in every situation.

"I believe you all know of what I speak when I say that this has gone on for long enough. Fear me not, for this is no personal vendetta. Beriadan has directly disobeyed my orders which has resulted in the near-fatal injury of his very own co-captain."

"I request the floor" one of the men at the back of the table rose a hand in the air and scanned the room with his large, knowing eyes.

"Arphenion may have the floor."

"Beriadan has gorged himself like a warg on orc blood for too long. It is my opinion that he wishes to take the crown and become a tyrant" at this, a few of the councilmen rose to their feet and began to speak all at once until Thranduil banged his fist on the table and roared "silence!" For a few moments the mighty bellow rang out through the wide room until he motioned for Arphenion to carry on speaking.

"Beriadan must return to the city to answer charges of illegal warfare and treason" the last word was grave and as he sat down, the elder elf surveyed the rest of the council with grim eyes.

"Arandur?" the king finally spoke after a moment's consideration, the tension hanging thickly in the air "speak on this."

"I think" Arandur paused, his brows knitted in thought and his chin between his thumb and forefinger "when confronted by a hungry warg it is unwise to go to the animal but it is equally unwise to pretend to be a friend to the snarling beast."

"Perhaps you would have us climb a tree?" one of the other members remarked from across the room, resulting in another raising of voices.

"Irion?" Thranduil turned to the elf, his face calm as ever but his knuckles white from gripping his goblet "what say you?"

"I doubt he will return to the city any time soon. The council's hostility will prevent him, legally speaking."

"And how will he know of the council's hostility? Who here would tell him?" said one of the other members.

"Even an idiot such as Beriadan would be able to figure that out" remarked Arandur, rolling his eyes.

Eleanor watched from where she sat in the corner of the room, wide eyed and confused. Illegal warfare? Treason? This was bigger than she'd ever imagined. These were the types of charges that wars were started over and it was no big secret how much they'd all lost to war already.

Surveying the back and forth of the seasoned veterans had done much to put things into perspective for her. She wasn't clueless to politics but before tonight she'd severely underestimated Thranduil. Again. As she looked at him now she noticed his white knuckles, held tightly in frustration and suddenly felt quite foolish thinking of her trivial problems. But, hadn't Aurelius told her that Thranduil had intended this? If he knew Beriadan would defy his orders then why was he so stressed?

"We cannot just sit idly by and do nothing as this madman runs loose about our borders!" Thranduil hissed, banging his fist on the table again.

Of course, she thought, in order to catch a criminal you actually have to catch him.

"We must wait for him to make the first move" Irion stated.

"This is no game of chess, Irion"

"But politically speaking, your highness, if you declare Beriadan an enemy of the city then his men are sure to revolt. He has been captain for a long time and there are many loyal to him."

"Are they not loyal to me first? Their king? Are they not loyal to the one who single handedly raised this kingdom from the ashes?" Thranduil ran a hand through his locks, waiting impatiently for an answer.

"It is not for me to say your highness, only that we cannot afford to lose favour with the guard" Irion pursed his lips together, watching the king with worried eyes. There was only one outcome he could afford to walk away with and he wasn't sure if Thranduil would go for it.

"Alright" the king replied in a weary tone "so we wait, motion carried" with that he waved his hand and the council members began to disperse through the wide doorway at the back of the room.

Eleanor watched from the shadows as Thranduil turned to face her, anxious of what he would say.

"Come, it has been a long evening. You can draw me a bath" he held out his hand to her and set his empty goblet on the table.

"Am I your servant now as well as your bodyguard?" she had intended it to be a joke but as she watched him now, tired and worn down, she felt a pang of sympathy rise in her chest.

"For tonight."

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Just in case anyone was wondering Thranduil is around 1000/1100 years old and Eleanor is around 1500. I know in canon he is much older than that but I wanted to write him as a young king. Thanks for reading and please review!

(Also thank you to everyone my reviewers so far, it really is encouraging)


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